


Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust

by peachchild



Series: Second Star to the Right [3]
Category: Peter Pan (1953), The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Aidan can be ugly when he's jealous, he does his best to not be like Tinkerbell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly word vomit, but I'm sort of fond of it anyway. I was obsessed with [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FtRVXoCGaw) while I was writing this. 
> 
> Written for the anon on Tumblr who asked: "I'm curious. In your Peter Pan Aidean au, you mentioned that people are naturally drawn to Dean. Does Aidan ever get jealous of that, especially since he didn't seem too happy when Peter was talking to him?"

When it becomes obvious to Aidan that he will always wake up earlier than Dean, he becomes determined to teach himself how to use the coffee maker. 

He has watched Dean make his own coffee so many times that the actual concept isn’t terribly difficult to figure out. However, when he makes his first pot, he forgets the filter and the grounds floating in the coffee certainly don’t look right. So he dumps it out and tries again, carefully measuring the coffee grounds into the filter and pressing the brew button.

The water is boiling, making that soft hiss of bubbles, and Aidan is sitting on the counter drinking orange juice, when Dean wanders into the kitchen, his hair a mess and his pajama bottoms slung low, drawn by the smell of coffee. He leans up to kiss Aidan’s cheek, and Aidan nudges a plate of buttered toast toward him, which he crunches readily into. 

He hasn’t spoken yet, which isn’t unusual first thing in the morning, but he lets Aidan curl his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. When Aidan pours him a cup of coffee, he takes it gratefully and takes a gulp of it, the muscles in his shoulders going tense, and Aidan’s face falls.

“Does it taste bad?” 

Dean nods slowly and dumps the cup into the sink. He then smiles brightly at him and borrows his orange juice to wash the taste out of his mouth before kissing him again firmly. “It’s alright. No one makes good coffee their very first try. Thank you; it’s the thought that counts.” 

Aidan curls his arms around his neck and his legs around his hips and kisses him again. He’s almost too tall for this now; since leaving Neverland, he’s shot up, standing almost three inches taller than Dean at this point. Not that Dean seems to mind: he still looks at him with that easy adoration he always has, still touches him with all the reverence and joy that sometimes make him shy.

“I’m sorry,” Aidan murmurs, touching his fingertips to the corner of Dean’s mouth before pressing another kiss there. “I was trying to put everything together for you, so it’d be ready to go when you woke up.” 

“I appreciate it.” Dean presses against him, his arms braced on the counter, and mouths kisses along his neck. “And the toast was lovely, and finding you sitting here looking so beautiful was perfect. The coffee isn’t even necessary after all that.”

* * * 

Aidan was too young to have met Wendy, but he heard stories about her from the Lost Boys. For a long time, he thought she was make-believe, that they all played pretend that she was real. 

Wendy was special, because she was the only girl Peter Pan ever brought to Neverland.

He finally asked Tinkerbell, when she fluttered onto his shoulder and nudged his cheek with her wings in greeting: “Hey, Tink. Tell me something: Did you really know a girl named Wendy?”

Tinkerbell’s wings bristled up, and she scraped her feet on his shoulder, like she was wiping something foul off her shoes, and turned her nose up to the sky, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Aidan laughed, swinging his legs. He was perched in a tree above the mermaid lagoon, and had been skipping stones down at them, but when they realized where he was, they had begun to splash him and he retreated to higher branches, out of reach. 

“So there really was a Lost Girl once.” He poked the pixie carefully in the side with his little finger, but she stumbled anyway. He swung his feet. “Do you think Peter loved her?”

Tinkerbell plopped deliberately down on her bottom, folding her arms across her chest sulkily. Aidan looked at her, as well as he could look at someone sitting on his own shoulder. Then a flight of pixies soared by overhead, and Tinkerbell darted off like a dragonfly to join them, leaving by a golden trail of pixie dust, and Aidan figured if Peter loved Wendy, he wouldn’t have let her go home without him.

* * * 

Aidan still goes with Dean to his studio from time to time, but now that he’s more familiar with the city, he’s more likely to wander the neighborhood, head down to the harbor, doze on the grass in the park, or stay home to make cookies or read a book on the balcony, waiting for Dean to come home. 

He thinks sometimes about getting a job, or taking classes, but when he finds himself motivated to look through the papers at job listings or to peruse college courses, he can never sees anything that he feels he would like to do, and Dean reminds him regularly that until he finds something that will make him happy, he’s happy to support him. Having that kind of freedom makes Aidan lazy, and he knows it, but Dean is patient with him, and he tries to do little things to make up for it.

That’s how he finds himself walking down to the studio with hot sandwiches and coffee so that Dean, who has a day booked solid, which is excellent for business but not great for his diet, doesn’t have to make extra time to buy himself lunch. Aidan also misses Dean today, so he’s happy to spend an hour or so with him, even if it’s just sitting in the background, watching him work. 

And he loves to watch Dean work: the ease with which he holds a camera, the curve of his shoulders when he finds a particularly perfect shot, the hand that settles on his hips in thought when something isn’t quite working. Dean at work is beautiful, comfortable - exactly as he is when he is with Aidan - and Aidan takes a certain pride in that.

When he steps through the door into the warm, brightly-lit space, he’s greeted by two things that make disappointment swoop through him. The first is the presence of a burger and chips, laid out on their wrappers, Dean chewing through a bite he’s just taken and wiping his greasy fingers on his napkin. The second is the presence of the gangly young man sitting at the table with him, grinning easily from behind his square-framed glasses and occasionally stealing chips. 

Dean catches Aidan’s eye where he’s still standing beside the door and the smile that eases onto his face, like the sun easing over the horizon, settles the uncomfortable twist in his stomach long enough for him to pad over to him and accept the kiss he leans up to give him. “Hey, love. What are you doing here?”

Aidan holds up the paper bag in his hand, the cup in his other, suddenly embarrassed, in front of this stranger, to have brought it. “I thought we could have lunch together.” 

Dean does him the courtesy of looking sheepish, even though he really has nothing to feel that way about; Aidan didn’t give him any indication of coming down with lunch today. “Thank you; that was such a nice thought. We’ll have it for dinner, okay? I’ll take the coffee right now though; I’m dying for it.” Dean took the cup from him, took a very deliberate swig, then nodded in the direction of the other man. “Oh, I haven’t had a chance to introduce you yet. This is Adam. I told you about him, remember?”

He had, of course. Business was good enough that he could afford to hire someone on to help with lighting and basic office work, answering phones and keeping the appointment book organized, along with development and delivery of photos. Adam smiles and offers Aidan a hand that Aidan shakes politely like the adult he’s trying to be. “Nice to meet you. Dean talks about you all the time.” 

Aidan sits down on Dean’s leg, curling an arm around his shoulders and playing lightly with his hair. Dean’s cheeks flush, but Aidan can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or pleased by the show of affection. “What have you been doing today?” Dean asks after clearing his throat.

“This and that.” Aidan shrugs. “Wanted to see you.” 

Dean rubs his hand over the small of his back. “I’ll be home around five today.” He checks his watch. “You should see if there are any films you’d like to go to, so I can take you out tonight.” 

Aidan frowns. He recognizes the words for the dismissal they are. He doesn’t kiss Dean goodbye when he leaves.

* * * 

Their first fight was over Emmett - not that it was easy to fight with Dean. He was too patient and kind - but on the subject of Emmett, he refused to back down.

It took him only a couple of months of knowing Emmett, and living with Dean, to realize that they had been lovers - not that that was the word his brain really supplied him with. It didn’t really give him a particular word at all - just: _He loves Dean like I love Dean._

It splashed over him like hot wind on a summer day, when they were in the studio, and Emmett popped in to say hello, carrying an eclair and a mocha prepared just the way Dean liked it. Dean kissed his cheek in thanks, and Aidan knew by that look on Emmett’s face, like he’d lost something very special to him: Dean was Emmett’s, and Aidan stole him away.

Perhaps he should have felt a little guilty, for helping break Emmett’s heart, because he liked Emmett: he always remembered the way Aidan liked his tea, and he always included Aidan in their conversations - even if it meant taking the time to explain little things that otherwise might not have needed mentioning. It all made him feel even more a part of Dean’s life - someone special that his friends wanted to know as well. So he probably should have felt guilty, but mostly he felt angry.

He wasn’t sure why he was angry, not at first, but he bristled and stomped about and purposefully fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television so he wouldn’t have to share the bed with Dean. And Dean knew something was wrong, but as patient and kind as he was, he let Aidan sizzle and spit and then cool. 

When Aidan finally crawled into his lap, where he had been reading in bed, Dean put down the book and lifted his face, and Aidan kissed him, his hands pressed like claws around his face - a biting kiss full of teeth and tongue that had Dean holding onto him as if he might fall to his death if he didn’t. It was the kind of kiss that ended in clumsy hands and pressing hips and bruising mouths, and afterwards, long, harsh breaths.

“I wish you’d never had anyone but me,” Aidan murmured against Dean’s neck, his hand curled under his chin, pressed tight against him like a toddler. “I wish I was the only person you’ve ever done this with.”

Dean traced the bumps of his spine under his shirt, the cool touch of his fingertips soothing Aidan into a dreamy space. He kissed his hair. “You’re the only person that matters.”

“It’s not the same. I’m all yours. You never have to share me.”

“You don’t have to share me either, Aidan.”

“I do. Whenever Emmett’s around. I know he’s in love with you.”

Dean was quiet, like he was processing, and Aidan realized it: he didn’t know. “Why do you say that?”

“He looks at you like I look at you. Like he doesn’t want anything except your attention. And I hate him.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. I don’t want to share you.” 

“Aidan.” Dean sighed. “He’s my friend. He’s your friend too.”

“So why don’t I have sex with him too then? It’ll be even - since we’re all friends.”

Dean didn’t dignify what Aidan knew was blatant spite with a response. He instead shifted Aidan off of him and retrieved some tissues to clean them up. “Go to sleep, Aidan. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

* * * 

Aidan finds it very hard to stomp angrily around the flat once Dean is home - because he brings with him the sour candies from the shop that Aidan is addicted to, and also that smile of his that begs forgiveness, even if he’s not exactly sure what he’s done wrong. 

Within half an hour, they’re curled on the sofa, the television on low, and Aidan is sucking sugar from Dean’s fingertips, only half-concerned with the fire lit low in Dean’s eyes. He feels lazy and full and buzzes with happiness at having him all to himself for the night. 

“Can I ask you something?” Even when Aidan hums an affirmative, Dean doesn’t speak for a moment, like he’s trying to choose the perfect words for what he has to say: “Did you not like Adam?”

Aidan looks up at him with his eyes dark, guarded, and doesn’t answer.

“So you didn’t.”

He shrugs.

“Well, what don’t you like about him?”

Aidan looks away. Dean turns his face toward him again, his lips pursed. 

“He... likes you too much,” Aidan decides carefully. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like that someone likes me.”

“Right.”

“Okay.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair. “Adam is in a pretty committed relationship, just so you know. And last time I checked, so was I. With you.”

Aidan picks lint off Dean’s shirt, avoids his eyes. “It’s not that,” he murmurs. “I’m not... _threatened_ by him.”

“Oh?”

“Well. Not that way.” He winces. “I just - Everyone likes you. It scares me.”

“Because you’re a possessive little fool?” Dean teases, nosing at his cheek.

“Because I don’t want you to go away,” Aidan snaps. “You’d survive it, if I went away, because people _love_ you. Without even trying. They love you. You could go away, and they would follow you everywhere. You could get... all caught up in it and not even notice if I get left behind.” 

Dean’s eyes have gone serious, his eyebrows drawn together. His hands are tense where they rest on Aidan, and his mouth is pursed, the way it is whenever he is listening carefully to something he’s being told. “You’re afraid I could replace you?” he asks gently, not wanting to misunderstand.

Aidan glares at him.

And then Dean does something that’s almost unforgivable. He laughs. Aidan stares helplessly at him until Dean presses him back against the couch with the kind of kiss that’s meant to suck the air for his lungs. “You stupid boy,” he murmurs affectionately against Aidan’s mouth. “You’re one of a kind. Irreplaceable.” 

“You say that now,” Aidan mutters defiantly, even as he tilts his head back, eyes closed, to let Dean mouth his way down his neck. “It’s easy to say those things when you’ve no other options.” 

“You’re right. There are no other options.” Dean presses his hands up under Aidan’s shirt, hiking it up so he can press his open mouth against his stomach. Aidan curls a hand in his hair and arches against him. “I look at everyone in the world, everyone I see and speak to and work with and listen to, and all I can think is, ‘He is not Aidan in this way and this way and this way,’ and then I realize I’ve got one option for the rest of my life, and that’s you.” 

Aidan runs a hand through his hair, self-conscious, gazing down at Dean where he’s sucking a bruise into his hip. “Really?” he asks, meek.

Dean meets his eyes, and there’s not a trace of uncertainty. “Really.”

* * * 

Tinkerbell could be cruel.

Aidan learned that the hard way, when he was getting what the pixie decided was more than his fair share of Peter’s attention. While he was dozing on the sand one day, close to the water, having previously been doing a somewhat meager job of keeping an eye out for the Jolly Roger, she set a crocodile on him. 

Her plan to kill him backfired a bit, since Peter came to his rescue, banishing the beast with a few quick slashes and swishes of his dagger and quite a lot of shouting. Aidan blinked himself awake as the hullabaloo was dying down, just to find Peter there to yank him off the ground and into a nearby tree, out of reach of the animal, should he return to finish the job.

Tinkerbell was perched on a leaf in the same tree, lying on her back, overcome with the giggles. It seemed Aidan’s near-death was enough for her to forgive him of his perceived slight; amusing things didn’t happen nearly often enough, as far as pixies were concerned.

“Now, Tink.” Peter picked her up by her wings, which made her flaming mad, and she kicked him hard in the heel of the hand until he let her go. “No more of this. You promised if Wendy went home, you’d stop with all this nonsense.”

Tinkerbell just stuck her tongue out at him and flew off.

Aidan blinked up into the sky after her, rubbing the sleep marks from his cheek. “Why is she like that?” 

Peter shrugged, breaking a rotting twig off at its base and swinging it around like a sword. “She likes me or something - a crush, you know? Like the grownups say.” He leapt to his feet, balancing his way along the branch with arms outstretched. 

“And you don’t like her.”

“I like her swell.” He shrugged again. It was a succinct way of describing his feelings for her: something like that of a boy loving his pet dog. “Anyway, she never means any real harm. She would’ve rescued you, if I hadn’t come along.”

“She didn’t try to rescue Wendy.”

Peter was quiet, looking off toward where the sun was setting. “Yeah, well, Wendy was different. Come on, let’s go catch some slugs.” 

Aidan wondered if Peter might have loved Wendy a little bit after all.

* * *

They never did talk about Emmett, in the end - even though Dean tried on several occasions to bring it up. Aidan woke up finding it suddenly didn’t matter, which is a talent with him. He can let things go in a heartbeat. The next time he saw Emmett, he was as cheerful and delighted as ever before - and Aidan didn’t think Dean knew it, but it was because a mean-spirited part of himself loved that he _won_. Besides, Dean was happy, and Aidan was happy, so he wasn’t going to rock the boat about it anymore.

He takes the same approach with Adam, with whom, he finds after a day, he gets along like a house on fire. They waste half of the morning creeping around the studio, dressing up in the cheesy costumes people sometimes leave after their shoots are complete, taking ridiculous photos of each other.

Dean laughs from his corner, where he is editing photos, and claims that they’ll be the ones to run off to get married, and he’ll be left behind. 

“It’s true. Adam is the love of my life,” Aidan declares, even as he slides onto Dean’s desk and pecks a kiss to his nose. “He is the Lost Boy who was never Lost, and he is my soulmate.” 

Adam sits on the floor, thin legs criss-cross, surrounded by wigs. “It’s true. I really should have spent my eternity in Neverland. But alas!” He shrugs. “It was not meant to be.” He dons a wig shaped vaguely into a blonde mullet. “Instead, I will steal this Lost Boy from you and marry him in order to live my forgotten dream.”

“Well, you go with my blessing.” Dean gives a mock-bow from his chair. 

Aidan just grins at him and wishes he could show Tinkerbell what real love looks like.


End file.
